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I let the dove go, it returned with a word.
The silence receded, sounding unheard…

At the periphery, yield
to the pulse of longing.
Energy raised to an nth degree,
alights truths in whispers.
Go placidly amid such truth,
deafen the noise, the haste.
Let loose your spirit in this
immaculate, holy space.
Pinnacles of grace exist in
trust, faith, and eternal truth.
Enunciatory light is revelation,
oh so finely calibrated.
Sing into the flame, bare witness
to love’s honest elocution.
Stand naked, for once,
in the burning city.
The soul on fire, consumed
by red-wine logic's desire.
It sings, exults, and
prayers are answered.
We are all, but beautiful,
veritable poems, simply blessed.
Diaphanous, ethereal,
as small epiphanies errupt.